One Less Thing
by ohmytheon
Summary: What's it matter losing yourself for one night after losing your best friend? Roy finds out that he can't go alone anymore.


**Author's Notes:** So I started filling out some quick prompt fics on tumblr, and I've managed to get a lot done. Most of them are depressing as hell though because angst is what I do best. Will I ever be over Hughes? NEVER.

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine. Sad day.

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 **One Less Thing**

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The second the door shut behind him, Roy froze on the spot. His apartment was dark, the only source of light a jagged edge of moonlight that cut through his blinds. He'd never bothered to hang up curtains in the years that he'd lived here. It didn't matter now. Soon he would be moving to Central, to another place where he probably wouldn't hang up curtains for years. One less thing he had to pack, he supposed.

Taking a step forward was almost as difficult as standing still, but he took one and then another and another until the footsteps came out like a flood and he found himself storming into the kitchen. Despite the darkness of the room, he didn't bump into anything or walk about hesitantly. Even without his eyes having adjusted, he easily made his way to the cabinet by the fridge, flipping it open and pulling out the half drunk bottle of whiskey hidden behind the door.

The bottle hit the counter with a bang, torn between being dropped and slammed down. Roy popped it open and took a hearty swig before setting it back down again. He didn't bother with glass. Why dirty something when the amber liquid was already being held in a container he could drink out of? One less thing to clean, he figured.

Picking the bottle up and taking another drink, Roy wandered out of the kitchen back into the living room. He unbuttoned the top of his military jacket as he did so, flicking them open without even thinking about the action. By the time he reached the couch, he set the bottle down on the counter and was able to slide the jacket off his frame, tossing it to the side. It was part of his dress blues, the finest of his military uniform, only to be worn to certain events. For once, Roy didn't care if it was on the floor. As far as he was concerned, any dirt or dust that got on it couldn't be worse than the invisible blood that stained the blue material.

When he collapsed on the couch, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and clasping his fingers together. His eyes locked onto the bottle of whiskey with the same sort of intensity that they would on a suspect or Fullmetal when the kid was trying to hide something from him. He hadn't drank from it in a while. Apparently it had cost more than a pretty penny, probably more money than a Lieutenant Colonel should've been spending on a friend, but birthday presents were supposed to be extravagant. It was supposed to be reserved for only special occasions.

Roy figured that the funeral of a murdered best friend counted as more than a special occasion, one that would require him to finish off the rest of the bottle.

He picked up the bottle, took another swig, and leaned back on the couch, letting the whiskey settle on his stomach and his mind drift. Truth be told, he very rarely drank at home and almost never alone. He didn't like the atmosphere. What could be said about a man that hated being around himself with only his inebriated thoughts to keep him company? Dark things always came to mind when he did that. Other people, even if it was just random patrons in a bar that he didn't know, kept those thoughts away. If he was preoccupied with people, those ghosts couldn't haunt him.

Tonight though, he welcomed those ghosts, practically demanded that they would come. Roy didn't know whether or not he believed in the afterlife or any sort of God – maybe he should after what had happened to the Elric brothers – but he felt rather desperate for them to be real tonight.

He hadn't lied to Riza when they'd been standing in front of Hughes' grave. Sure, he was a soldier in the military, but he was an alchemist in his heart. The same equations that had once filled Ed's mind had begun to run through his, the same desperation, the same anger, the same raw grief that seemed to chafe at his very soul. Strange that he would be reminded of his when Hughes' was gone.

Roy knew that there was nothing he could do. He'd seen the results of human transmutation firsthand and knew that it couldn't be done and yet in the back of his mind where all his knowledge of flame alchemy resided, arrogance had flickered behind his sadness. He was the Flame Alchemist, after all, the only alchemist of his kind. Surely he was smart enough to figure out a way to bring back what had been taken.

A cold laugh slipped out from his mouth, echoing in the dark room, reminding him that he was alone. He drank from the bottle again. The last time he had drank from this had been when Hughes had come into town to celebrate the day after his birthday. It seemed fitting that Roy would finish it on the day Hughes had been laid to rest.

The phone rang out of nowhere, but Roy was already feeling a little hazy from the alcohol to react jumpily. His eyes glazed over to the offending device. A part of him – a very large part, in fact – wanted to ignore it completely and continue drinking in silence. He knew that if he didn't answer, there wouldn't be another call. The person on the other end would know that he wanted to be left alone.

Honestly though, it wasn't that he wanted to be alone. He was terrified of being alone, especially tonight, terrified that he might break the second he answered the phone and they would know how weak he was. He couldn't show that side of himself, not again, not right now, now when he felt like he'd been shot in the chest and left to bleed in an alley.

At the last ring though, Roy picked up the phone and held it against his ear. He opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. He didn't know if there was anything he could say. For all he knew, it was someone else, but he didn't want it to be anyone else. There was no more Hughes to call him and annoy him with gushing statements about his wife and daughter. He couldn't stand to hear anyone else right now.

"Sir?" Riza's tentative voice called out on the other end.

Roy closed his eyes, his entire body relaxing, and sighed. "I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time, Lieutenant."

"I seem to be having a bad time as well," Riza responded. There was nothing in her voice that betrayed her own feelings of loss. She kept things so locked up. When the phone had died on the other end and Roy had known in his soul that Hughes was dead, there had only been a flicker of grief in her eyes before she'd shut it out and helped him get to Central as quickly as possible. Even at the funeral, she'd been closed off. It was her way of protecting herself, but he hated that she felt like she had to hold it all in and deal with things on her own.

"Any specific reason you're calling? We're not due back at Headquarters for another day."

There was only a second of hesitation in her voice before she spoke. Which was strange. Riza never hesitated over anything. "I was wondering if you needed any help."

"Help?" Roy furrowed his brow. His heart ached and his mind was reeling, but there was nothing that she could do to help him. "I don't think–"

"Perhaps you might need help finishing some leftover paperwork," Riza interrupted. "It's not very fun doing it all on your own at home, especially if you're already having a bad time."

Despite the alcohol already in his system, a light clicked on in Roy's head. He knew what she was telling him – and he also knew what she was asking him in between the lines. She didn't want to be alone tonight and she knew that he didn't want to be either. He craved her companionship for a multitude of reasons that he couldn't act on, but more than anything right now, he just wanted her around him. To drink and share memories. To remind himself why he was doing what he was doing and that it was for the greater good. Because if Hughes died for nothing, Roy wasn't sure he would be able to live up to the promise he'd made Riza.

"You know, you're right," Roy told her. "I'd appreciate any help I could get."

"I'll be there in fifteen."

He could always count on her to know when he needed her the most. Tonight, he couldn't stand be the Flame Alchemist, Colonel Roy Mustang. Tonight, he was just a man that had lost his best friend and needed the one person that knew how to center him in a world that felt like it was spinning out of control.


End file.
